


Tenebrus's Exit

by moreagaara



Series: The Emperor Revived [17]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brooding, Caring, Decisions, Deviates From Canon, Difficult Decisions, Escape, Fanfiction, Flashbacks, Gen, Isolation, Leaving Home, Literature, Loneliness, Minor Original Character(s), Musing, Original Character(s), Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Technobabble, Technology, Theft, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25577989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreagaara/pseuds/moreagaara
Summary: A short story about my original Emperor's Child space marine character, Tenebrus; specifically, this is about how he exits the Legion before the Heresy really kicks off (and thus avoids the whole thing).  Doesn't actually take place after the Emperor comes back, but I do mean to write more stuff featuring Tenebrus in that period, thus the filing choice.Peep ownership:Games Workshop - WH40k and relatedThe_LupercalXVI - SarielMe - the writing, Tenebrus
Series: The Emperor Revived [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1447444
Kudos: 3





	Tenebrus's Exit

**Author's Note:**

> A short story about my original Emperor's Child space marine character, Tenebrus; specifically, this is about how he exits the Legion before the Heresy really kicks off (and thus avoids the whole thing). Doesn't actually take place after the Emperor comes back, but I do mean to write more stuff featuring Tenebrus in that period, thus the filing choice.
> 
> Peep ownership:  
> Games Workshop - WH40k and related  
> The_LupercalXVI - Sariel  
> Me - the writing, Tenebrus

_ “…thus do I swear, under the oath-name of Tenebrus. Let my childhood name be burned and forgotten, for it belongs to one now dead,” the last marine in the group swore, soprano voice high and clear. He had written down his old name on a scrap of paper, and now stepped forward to feed it to a torch at the side of the astartes captain who oversaw the oath-taking. The captain nodded silently, and gestured for Tenebrus to join the other newly-sworn marines. Tenebrus obeyed, again finding his place as the last in the line. The last of twelve. _

_ The captain spoke for the first time since the beginning of the ceremony. “All of you are now full astartes of the Emperor’s Children, and you may call yourselves sons of Fulgrim the Phoenician from this moment forward. You may all count yourselves members of the Tenth company, and you will scout for the Legion until you have shown where your true talents lie. Go from this place, and report for duty.” _

Tenebrus sat in his rooms aboard the Pride of the Emperor, idly playing with some of his stuffed toys. He was alone; he was almost always alone, pitied, and pushed to the side. He sighed, allowing his arm to fall into his lap. He did not regret leaving his home and parents behind to join the Emperor’s Children; he understood that his transition to astartes had been more difficult than most, and he understood that he was also smaller, slower, and weaker than all other astartes because of his parents’ actions. He understood that the Emperor’s Children prided itself on perfection—and that because he had been castrated before joining, which made him markedly  _ less _ than all other space marines—he was not seen as worth anyone’s time.

That didn’t make his isolation hurt any less. Tears pricked his eyes again, and his throat started to close. He didn’t mind the emotion, though other space marines—his brothers especially—would. At least he was alone; he wouldn’t be mocked for his emotions again. He  _ could _ be useful; the Luna Wolves, now the Sons of Horus, had seen that. Zycius had seen it; it was why he was now an apothecary. Yet here, among his home Legion, he could not practice his arts. Fabius might be the twin of Zycius, but he would permit no other apothecary to intrude on his domain.

Which left Tenebrus without much other use. On returning, he had been permitted sniper training—since his weakness did not matter so much in that situation—but he was not often fielded. Not unless the Legion didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not unless the Legion needed every warm body on the field, imperfect or not. And ever since the conquest of the Laer, Tenebrus had been required even less. Ever since then…and especially since the total mess of the meeting with the Eldar, Tenebrus had only been able to watch as all his brothers began to fall and darken. Unable to act, unable to warn, unable to prevent. They would never listen to him—never understand that they were becoming too obsessed with perfection, that they were no longer the brothers he had lived with. That their Primarch was being slowly corrupted by the Sword of the Laer he wielded, and that they were all being corrupted through him.

No one would listen to the midget, the soprano. At least, no one among the Emperor’s Children. Tenebrus looked at the doll in his hands and sighed. It was a humanoid doll, bearing a kind stitched smile, blond hair, bright blue eyes, and lovingly crafted wings. Sariel—a Blood Angel he had met during the battle for Murder, shortly after being adopted into the Luna Wolves—would listen. The Luna Wolves—Horus himself—would hear him out. He wondered if perhaps the Sons of Horus would listen.

_ What could I possibly lose by trying? _ he wondered, then nodded to himself and his doll. He had few weapons to pack, at least; his apothecary supplies were still packed just as they had been when he returned to the Pride. He decided to take his sewing tools and his Sariel doll rather than attempt to pack them all; he wanted his room to look as though he had only stepped out for a short mission, rather than abandoned the Third entirely. As an afterthought, he set up a dataslate next to the door. He knew just enough about technology to have it detect when next his door was opened, record the date and time, and send that information to his armor when next he and it were in range. He suspected knowing how long it took his brothers to come check on him would only depress him, but he needed to know anyway. Lights off, door closed, deep breath…walk.

He kept his head down as he walked towards the ship’s docking bays. He glanced at the first; it was full of fast, nimble craft built for combat in both void and atmosphere. No help there; those would be missed. The second bay was full of his brothers preparing to take the Thunderhawks within down to the surface of the planet they orbited. He would be stopped, questioned, laughed or sneered at, denied, and marked. He kept going. The third bay held Stormbirds and craft in for repairs…and most importantly, only mortals and servitors were working inside. Perhaps…Tenebrus entered and turned to the nearest dataslate to see what ships were present.

Nothing void-capable already; he expected as much, though. Those ships had their own repair bays on the Pride, and were usually repaired at voidports anyway. Still, there were a few small warp drives being held in stasis—Fulgrim had apparently agreed to transport them as a favor to some newly-installed governor or other. Tenebrus drew in a breath, then steeled himself for what was likely to be either his finest—or his last—performance.

Head held high, he approached the techpriest on duty. “Primarch Fulgrim has ordered me to take a Warp-capable Stormbird to a secret location. Take one of the stored Warp drives and attach it to that Stormbird,” he ordered, doing his best to sound as haughty as possible.

The techpriest made a puzzled noise, and looked at Tenebrus suspiciously. “I have received no orders of this sort,” he—she?—replied.

“Because it’s a secret mission,” Tenebrus answered, his voice all patience. “Are you questioning the Primarch?” he asked, one eyebrow arched delicately.

The techpriest stood still for a long, long time; Tenebrus didn’t speak and channeled his very best Emperor’s-Child-irritated-that-others-were-not-obeying-him. He had seen it so often among his brothers. He had experienced it almost as often. At least the techpriest acquiesced. “It will take six hours to complete this task,” she—Tenebrus was fairly certain they were a she underneath the robe—stated sullenly. Tenebrus nodded firmly and returned to the catwalk to wait.

He was nervous now. If word got back to the Primarch—or any of his brothers for that matter—the whole plan would be scuttled. He wouldn’t just be mocked for this one; this would almost certainly end with him in the ship’s brig, where he would be ignored (at best) until he died of boredom. If the techpriest double-checked his statements—especially with the Primarch directly—then ‘secret mission’ or no, he was doomed. He had no way of making sure she didn’t; even if he were somehow able to keep the dataslates from transmitting, she almost certainly had implants that would accomplish the same task. More importantly, interfering with the slates would most likely tip her off that he wasn’t telling the truth—and then she would check him. Instead, Tenebrus paced while she worked, sending semi-frequent glances down to where she worked. She watched him in turn; of course she did. And of course she took her time with her newly ‘appointed’ task.

Most likely she had only agreed to do it to see if it was possible; it was a fairly common attitude, and it was the attitude that had gotten him through his transformation in the first place. He just needed to act as though this was a real mission until the work was finished. And for now, that meant pacing the catwalk over and over. He kept track of his breathing while he moved; the practice kept him calm. So did running over one of the songs he had heard while with the Luna Wolves.  _ I will shield you from the darkness when the walls around us quake; I will hold back all the monsters ‘til my bones begin to break… _ he thought-sang to himself.

Six hours, and a little longer passed. The techpriest watched him closely during the extra time; Tenebrus stopped pacing and leaned on the railing to keep track of her work. Never once did he check a chronometer; to be honest, he didn’t care when he left so long as he did. That meant his ‘mission’ couldn’t be time-sensitive. He didn’t dare leave to get additional supplies, either; what might she do while he was gone? But she finished the work. Tenebrus walked down to the newly modified Stormbird. “Good,” he grumbled, stalking up the ramp and carefully checking over the modified ship. He wasn’t surprised to find a tracking device; he pulled it loose and tossed it back down the ramp, then carefully checked for more. There were four others, each harder to find than the last; each one he pulled free and tossed out. The techpriest was sulking by the time he found and removed the last one. He favored her with a glower—again channeling his brothers—when he did. “I hope you took the time to finish the other repairs for this ship,” he stated, his tone cold and clipped.

“Yes, astartes,” she answered, even more dispassionate than she had been.

“Good. I will be departing immediately,” Tenebrus stated, heading to the cockpit. A servitor pilot had been installed; Tenebrus decided it was better to leave it there until he learned to properly fly a ship himself. “Take us to the Mandeville point and make a jump for…” he hesitated, then shrugged. “Davin.” Horus had last been reported there. Surely he would listen, if anyone would.

“Compliance,” the servitor stated, its voice as monotone as always. They flew out of the ship. They made it to the Mandeville point. They jumped. No one remarked on the ship’s passing, and Tenebrus learned exactly how difficult Warp travel was. He also learned what had transpired on Davin, aborted the mission, and had the servitor fly them to the nearest inhabited world where he could hide his Stormbird and pretend to be only a very tall, stronger and faster than average mortal man. He stayed on that world throughout the entirety of the civil war that eventually came to bear the Warmaster’s name.


End file.
